Queen of Hearts, Ace of Spades
by xmagic
Summary: Her life is in ruins, her family gone. His life is the image of perfection, he has all that he wants - except for his Queen of Hearts.
1. Prologue and Author's Notes

**Author's Notes: Hey all! Sorry I'm branching off once again from my already started ficlets, but this sort of came to me and I wrote it down. I'm not sure if I'll continue with it, so leave a review and tell me what you think. If people review and like it, I'll continue. If people don't like it, I'll just leave it for now.  
  
This is the prologue sort of thing, really, I suppose. Enjoy!  
**

Her heart beat a painful tattoo against her ribcage, making her realize just how mortal she really was.  
  
Her feet slipped and slid in the mud as she ran down the barely visible trail.  
  
Low hanging tree limbs and sharp-edged bushes scratched at her face and arms, tore her gown.  
  
Tears streamed down her dirt-stained cheeks, evidence of her panic.  
  
The sounds of pursuit were entirely too close, and her haunted gaze was frantic in its search for a hiding place.  
  
Her breathing was labored; her muscles screamed their protest as she forced herself to run on.  
  
A tree sprang through the mist that had settled over the forest, and a swift left on her part prevented a collision.  
  
The trail disappeared beneath her feet, but she didn't notice.  
  
The trees grew denser, the underbrush thicker, and she knew she was lost.  
  
Footsteps pounded behind her in pursuit, and the rain began.  
  
Lightning forked across the midnight sky, but she couldn't see it through the trees.  
  
Droplets of water fell thick and fast, impairing her vision and drenching her in seconds.  
  
She ran on.  
  
Adrenaline flooded her veins, as a scream from behind reached her ears.  
  
Thunder made its slow crescendo above her head, ending in a long and drawn out off-tune bass note.  
  
Raindrops dripped from her lashes, and she blinked away both her own tears and those of the gods above.  
  
Chancing a look behind, she was greeted with a horrific sight; the castle was burning.


	2. One

**Author's Notes: You're probably wondering why I've rated this as 'restricted,' since it's hardly worthy of the rating at the moment. No worries, though, for all you who like nice little r-rated fics. This will get graphic. For some twisted reason, it loves to be read.  
  
And, while I only received one review, I shall continue with this fic for a little while at least. This is chapter one, and will be starting at the very beginning of the story – the prologue was sort of a quarter of the way through.  
  
Enjoy!  
**  
She yawned.  
  
It was her last first day of classes at school.  
  
A bit of an oxymoron, that.  
  
Dragging herself from the comfort of her bed, she pulled a dressing gown around her pajama-clad form and slid her feet into a pair of fuzzy slippers.  
  
Exactly eight and a half seconds later, she was reveling in the feel of scalding hot water beating down on her bare flesh, and enjoying the knowledge that as Head Girl she didn't have to share her bathroom with a single person.  
  
Being a bit on the brainy side, and not a little responsible, certainly had its perks, she mused, returning to her bedroom roughly thirty minutes later.  
  
Pulling her robes over the pleated gray skirt and gray sweater-vest over white blouse that made up the rest of her uniform, she tucked her wand into a pocket and grabbed her book bag. Glancing once in the mirror on her way from her private dormitory, she was relieved to note that the faded blue- gray circles of worry that usually rimmed her eyes underneath had disappeared, and the slightly pinched angles of her face – from lack of nourishment – had filled out once again.  
  
She looked normal once more.  
  
Sighing at the thought, she left the room, well practiced unaffected façade in place on her heart-shaped visage.  
  
No one knew the extent of losses suffered on both sides of the war.  
  
No one knew how close the Order had come to losing Harry.  
  
No one was aware of the cliff that was looming ahead, as the battles grew ever fiercer.  
  
No one but her.  
  
Quickly pushing the thoughts to the back of her mind, she swept through the common room and down the corridors, ignoring her peers and scarcely batting a long, ebon eyelash when Peeves the poltergeist deigned to make an appearance in the Entrance Hall, singing a discordant tune of insulting melody.  
  
The doors to the Great Hall stood open, and she passed through with the regal grace of a Queen making her entrance to Court.  
  
A perfectly feigned serene smile played across her lips, as she took her seat at the Gryffindor table, ignoring the glances and whisperings of her peers.  
  
They thought her to be taking advantage of her appointment as Head Girl.  
  
They thought her undeserving of her position.  
  
They wondered exactly who she really was.  
  
She was not the Virginia Alexandra Weasley they remembered.  
  
Gone was the mousey, timid sixteen-year-old who had sobbed at the graduation ceremonies the previous June.  
  
Gone was the slightly dumpy, obviously innocent youngest Weasley.  
  
Gone was the girl who had blushed furiously at the sight of one Harry Potter.  
  
Gone was the bouncy girl who was acutely and obviously afraid of any member of Slytherin house.  
  
In her place was a confident, if slightly cold, young woman who seemed almost incapable of emotion – if not for the look of impassive serenity that graced her features. She was no longer an innocent bystander; she had been a mediwitch over the summer holidays, and the horrors of war had become all too familiar. Her figure had changed from the slightly over- curvy shape that she had gotten from her mother to the lithe and slender build of a very female athlete. The blush that had become almost a part of her lightly sun-kissed features had disappeared; anyone who knew anything was aware of the fact that Harry Potter was hardly the object of her desire any more. She was bouncy no more, instead holding herself with regal poise that was not entirely necessary, and should anyone dare to raise her ire or attempt intimidation, they would be greeted with the cool disdain of a Queen sending someone to the gallows.  
  
Virginia Weasley had changed.  
  
With a sigh, she pulled a pear from a bowl of fruit, and bit down, relishing the feel of her canines sinking into the flesh of the fruit, the taste of the juice flowing into her mouth and down her throat.  
  
The post would arrive soon, she knew, and it was with a heavy heart that she remained at the breakfast table, fighting the urge to run.  
  
She had agreed to return to school for her final year under one condition; that she receive notice if anything of importance happened in the war. Her parents, though slightly distraught that their youngest child and only daughter wanted to be part of the war in some way or another, had acquiesced, and Ginny waited with baited breath as the owls soared above her head in the morning ritual of delivering the post.  
  
But no letter landed in front of her, and as she glanced at the table where the Headmaster sat chatting to the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, the wizened wizard shook his head in slight acknowledgement of her unspoken question.  
  
No news, then.  
  
She supposed it was a good thing, and a nod of her head that was undetectable to anyone not looking for it was her response.  
  
Rising languidly from her seated position, she slid the strap of her book bag over her shoulder and left the Great Hall, the pear she had been eating laying forgotten on her plate.  
  
More Author's Notes: There's chapter one. A little boring, I think, but it'll have to do.  
  
I've heard several times that Ginny's name is actually supposed to be Ginevra Molly Weasley, but I don't personally like it. So. I've changed her name. It actually works best for this story, anyway. 


	3. Two

Classes had been uneventful for the past two weeks, and already she had grown bored of school.  
  
Letters from home and from the Order were infrequent, but rarely did they hold good news. She read about the casualties, the losses, and the retreats nonetheless, in stony silence, letting no one see the letters and burning the parchment afterward; she had asked for details, after all.  
  
Glancing at her schedule, a resentful sigh passed her lips.  
  
Herbology.  
  
With Slytherin.  
  
She hated the class enough, though she was required to take it if she wanted to become a Healer, but pairing Gryffindor with Slytherin for the class...  
  
That was just torture.  
  
Replacing the slip of parchment in her bag, she set course for the staircase, intent on getting her Herbology text from the common room.  
  
She had just placed her right foot on the bottom stair, when a voice from behind made her turn.  
  
"Miss Weasley."  
  
She didn't like the tone of voice her Headmaster was using.  
  
"Yes, professor?" Her own tone was wary, as she noticed the unusual solemnity of his facial expression.  
  
"I wonder, Miss Weasley, if you might accompany me to my office? I'm afraid I have something to discuss with you that is better said in private."  
  
Afraid. It was never a word one wanted to hear when a war is raging on one's doorstep.  
  
"Yes, sir."  
  
She removed her foot from the stair, and approached her professor, carefully banishing any thoughts from her mind.  
  
She had no idea what he wanted with her, and she intended to keep it that way until she had heard every word he had to say.  
  
They walked in silence, she forcing herself to put one foot in front of the other, despite her dread of the situation, he looking unnaturally somber.  
  
When she had taken her seat in his circular office, the Headmaster turned to her once more.  
  
He had remained standing, and was looking unusually uncomfortable.  
  
"I don't exactly know how to put this, Miss Weasley, so I will not sugar coat it."  
  
She waited.  
  
"Your father passed away this morning."  
  
Her jaw dropped.  
  
"D-dad? He can't have! Mum would have owled me right away! You're joking. Fred and George put you up to this."  
  
Tears welled in her eyes, despite her disbelief, and one slid down her cheek before she could banish them.  
  
"I'm sorry, Miss Weasley."  
  
She nodded, before bowing her head for a moment.  
  
"How did it happen?"  
  
"He had a heart attack."  
  
She nodded again.  
  
"Thank you, professor. I expect mum will be owling me later, then. May I be excused?"  
  
"Of course, Miss Weasley. You may take the rest of the day off classes, if you need to."  
  
Another nod of her head, and she rose, bidding the professor farewell and thanks.  
  
Despite the fact that she wanted nothing more than to curl up in her bed and cry her life away, she knew it would only worsen her grief.  
  
So it was that with gritted teeth and wan complexion that Virginia Weasley entered the greenhouse some five minutes later, apologizing curtly to the oblivious professor and taking her place beside Colin Creevey.  
  
No one noticed her distress, and she endured the lesson resolutely, ignoring the barbs of the Slytherins and taking part in conversations as though nothing was amiss.  
  
She had become a great actress over the summer.  
  
When at last professor Sprout dismissed her class, Ginny informed the small group accompanying her back to the castle that she had a headache, and would not be present at dinner.  
  
Blocking out the sympathetic words of advice from her friends, she disappeared into her dormitory as soon as they reached the common room.  
  
Charms for warding and silencing flew from her wand, before she threw the magical implement to the ground.  
  
She took a deep breath, quelling the sobs that threatened to shake her slender form, and turned to the mirror.  
  
What she saw was a frightened, frail looking child.  
  
Anger bubbling to the surface at last, as was the natural order of things, her fist flew towards the innocent silver plate.  
  
She was surprised when it shattered.  
  
She watched the shards of metallic glass fall to the floor, a deadly cascade of broken water.  
  
A small piece landed in her now-open fist, and she looked at it, wonder written plainly in her gaze.  
  
How easy it would be, she mused, fingering the jagged slip of silver, to end her own life.  
  
Angry with herself for letting go of her emotions, she pocketed the shard.  
  
Heels scratching the stone floor in a pleasantly ear burning melody, she spun and directed herself to the bathroom to clean up.  
  
When she emerged from the tiled chamber, the mirror had been replaced, the glass on the floor cleaned up.  
  
A sigh parted her lips, and she collapsed on her bed to await the owl that was surely in transit from the Burrow.  
  
Sure enough, the sleek new tawny owl that her late father had purchased just weeks ago flew through her open window.  
  
It settled on her outstretched arm, and she removed the envelope from its beak before it fluttered away to perch atop her wardrobe.  
  
It was with hatefully trembling fingers that she slit open the seal and withdrew the slip of parchment.  
  
Folded neatly in two, it fell open of its own accord, and her eyes skittered over the words marred here and there by droplets of water.  
  
_Ginny,  
  
It is difficult to write this, darling, and I don't know where to start. Your brothers are all here, and Bill offered to write you, but I just couldn't let him...  
  
It would be pointless to beat around the bush, so I'm just going to say this.  
  
Your father passed away this morning, Ginny. He had a heart attack, and the healers at St. Mungo's pronounced him dead when we arrived.  
  
He asked me to tell you that he loves you, that he'll miss you, and to make sure you find a nice respectable lad to settle down with after you graduate.  
  
I'm sorry you didn't get to say goodbye, love, but you know how much your father hated good-byes.  
  
I won't begin the arrangements for the funeral until you get here, and I've owled professor Dumbledore and requested that you be able to come home for a little while. I have no doubts that he will permit it, and I imagine he will want to speak with you tomorrow to set everything up.  
  
Love and tears,  
Mum  
_  
A solitary droplet of water traced its path down her cheek as she refolded the letter.  
  
She wondered idly why the headmaster hadn't told her she would be going home, but concluded that he had probably wanted her to read her mother's missive first.  
  
With a soft sigh, she tucked the bit of tear-spotted parchment into her pocket and rose from her bed.  
  
It was with hatefully tentative steps that she crossed the room to stand in front of her mirror, whisky eyes peering disgustedly at her reflection. She knew it was acceptable to let her grief show – expected, even – but the idea of letting the entire student body know that she was in mourning was too daunting to fathom.  
  
Sighing once more with this thought, she gathered her books from the floor and threaded her way through the room and to the door.  
  
She pushed it open gently, as though afraid either she or the portal itself would shatter, and slipped down the narrow stone stairwell into the gaudy Gryffindor common room.  
  
The circular chamber was deserted, the occupants of the tower all still at dinner, and she settled in one of the overused armchairs by the fire. With a practiced flick of her wrist, she opened the Defense Against the Dark Arts text and began to read, submerging herself in curses and counter- curses and relishing the stupor that the book slowly but steadily cast upon her weary mind.  
  
Echoing voices reached her ears through the fog of studying, and she looked up as the portrait opened to admit a stream of Gryffindors. A duo directed themselves towards her spot by the fire, and an inaudible sigh passed her lips.  
  
So much for not having to think.  
  
"Why weren't you at dinner, Gin?" The baritone of Colin Creevey turned her attention outward, and her gaze settled on the blond.  
  
"I told you when we left Herbology – I wasn't feeling well." Her tone was curtly exasperated.  
  
"Speaking of – why were you late to Herbology?"  
  
She had expected the question, but had hoped to avoid it until she was ready to talk, and until they were somewhere other than the common room.  
  
"Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak with me."  
  
"What did he need?"  
  
"He needed to... tell me about a problem with my schedule." She had wavered on telling the truth, but settled for the old excuse that was overused and under-investigated.  
  
Both Colin and his younger brother Dennis raised skeptical blond brows, but said nothing, for which she was thankful.  
  
A shake of her head dismissed the conversation, and she returned to the text that sat open in her lap.  
  
She stared uncomprehendingly at the page, blinking back a betraying tear as it threatened to form, taking a breath to steady her emotions.  
  
"What's wrong, Ginny?"  
  
"Nothing Dennis, I'm fine." Her tone was a little too sharp, and she could feel her control wavering.  
  
"I'm going for a walk," she stated abruptly, tossing her book on the table and rising swiftly.  
  
The brothers didn't try to follow, as she disappeared through the portrait hole, but she knew they wanted to.  
  
They always were a little meddlesome, but she had always loved that about them.  
  
Until today.  
  
Her hands curled into fists, nails digging into her palms, as she wandered the corridors.  
  
Her feet carried her to the stone gargoyle that guarded the entrance to the Headmaster's quarters, and she paused.  
  
"Best get it over with," she murmured, before uttering the password that had the statue moving and a stairwell appearing behind it.  
  
She stepped onto the moving pathway, allowing it to carry her to the office in which she knew the Headmaster would be.  
  
Her knuckles met the solid wooden panel in front of her, as the stairway ceased its upward motion.  
  
"Come in." The voice was that of her professor, but Dumbledore sounded... weary.  
  
She knew how he felt.  
  
Tentatively, suddenly regretting her choice to come, she pushed open the door and entered the circular office.  
  
"Miss Weasley. I thought it might be you. Have a seat."  
  
She said nothing, but settled slowly in one of the chairs in front of his desk.  
  
He had been reading a letter, she surmised, judging from the small owl sitting on the back of his chair, the sole slip of parchment sitting on the wood surface before him, and the mug of untouched cocoa on his left.  
  
"Your mother sent me this-"he gestured to the roll of parchment – "requesting that you be allowed to return home as soon as possible."  
  
She nodded, noting that his tone had gone brisk, businesslike.  
  
"If it is okay with you, Miss Weasley, I will tell Molly that you will be home tomorrow, via floo, and that you need not return until the end of the month."  
  
Another nod.  
  
"You may attend your classes tomorrow if you wish, and I will have the floo prepared for five o'clock. I will discuss your absence with your professors, so you need not worry about that."  
  
She sighed.  
  
"I am sorry, Virginia. I knew your father well, and he will be missed."  
  
"Thank you, professor." Her tone was edged, though she had not meant it to be; it was difficult to remain passive with such a... sensitive... subject.  
  
The old wizard nodded, and she saw the sparkle of tears in his eyes.  
  
Rising from her seat, she murmured a 'good-night' and departed the office, her feet retracing their earlier path in the return to Gryffindor Tower. 


End file.
